


The Dangers of Mail Collection

by wraith17



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 01:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4857404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wraith17/pseuds/wraith17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from Dreameater1988. No. 38 “I’m so sorry that my child pointed out how your shirt- actually never mind I agree, that shirt is horrendous.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dangers of Mail Collection

Stepping out into the chilly London morning, Drake MacGouran shuffles his way down to his blue mailbox, his favourite slightly worn Bowie shirt not shielding him terribly well but it was a quick trip after all. Mail in hand, Drake makes his way back to his house, one long fingered hand reaching out for the knob and twisting, only to pause as the shriek of a child reaches his ears.

“Mummy, Mummy!” A little brunette girl cries out, pigtails bouncing as she points over at him. “Look how ugly that man’s shirt is!” She giggles gleefully, dancing around on the spot, green skirt twirling around her as an older brunette clad in dark purple, presumably ‘Mummy’, walks over to her.

“Clara! That wasn’t very nice now was it?” The woman snaps at Clara, shooting Drake a sideways glance, which makes him very uncomfortable for reasons that haven’t occurred in a very long time, and snatches up Clara’s hand. The pair quickly approach him, the girl shooting her mother what could only be described as panicked doe eyes, Drake unknowingly mimicking the expression as the formidable yet tiny brunette reaches the fence.

Drake frantically tries to flatten his bed hair as best he can but he can’t really do much to improve his appearance other than attempt to cover his shirt with his meagre mail. The woman, who under other circumstances he would have attempted to flirt with, pulls Clara in front of her, red tipped hands clasping her small shoulders and anchoring her in place. 

“I’m terribly sorry we had to meet like this,” The whirlwind of a woman says and offers him a hand to shake. Drake stares at her, giving her the once over warily like she’s a tigress about to pounce; bright blue eyes winged with eyeliner boring into his blue grey, cheekbones a model would kill for and deep red lips set in a politician’s smile. There wasn’t so much as a hair out of place on her entire person and Drake shuffles, feeling even worse for his slovenly appearance. After blinking at her like an idiot, Drake shifts his mail awkwardly and clasps her small hand in his larger, starting at the spark that shot through him, shaking quickly and dropping her hand like it burnt him. “I’m Marsaili Saxon and this is Clara, I’m terribly sorry that she said that your shirt was ugly.” Bright blue eyes flick up and down his person, Drake suddenly able to understand how a bug under a magnifying glass must feel, before she snorts with laughter. “Actually never mind, I agree that shirt is horrendous.” 

Drake splutters indignantly, drawing himself up to his full height and glaring down at the chortling pair. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know this is a vintage David Bowie T-shirt from his world tour in 1983, how dare you insult the Bowie.” You can say whatever you like about Drake himself but no one mocks David Bowie in his presence even if they are MILFs.

Marsaili tosses her head back, a high pitched almost cackling laugh leaving her throat. “Not Bowie, silly man. Just look at the state of it, not really doing the big man himself much of an honour by wearing his shirt till it’s threadbare.” She pauses before dropping her gaze to Clara. “My Clara, be a good girl and apologize to mister...?”

“MacGouran, Drake is fine.” Drake supplies and shuffles with pink tinged cheeks.  
Clara looks like she’s been handed a large plate of Brussel sprouts, elfin face all screwed up and she says softly in a practiced tone. “Sorry for insulting your shirt Mr. Drake.” 

When Marsaili looks expectantly at him Drake realises he hasn’t said anything, really just reeling from this bizarre conversation. “Oh, uh, it’s alright. Um, apology accepted?”

Clara looks up at her mother, checking to see if she did a good job and Marsaili smiles down at her daughter. “Well done Clara, now be a good girl for Mummy and go wait by the mailbox.”  
The girl grins brightly at takes off at a run, spinning around briefly and shouting back at them. “Goodbye Mr. Drake!” before leaving the two adults alone.

Drake swallows nervously as the smile on Marsaili’s turns into something that would have been very inappropriate around her child. “Um, Clara seems like she’s a good girl?” He starts awkwardly, fiddling with his mail.

“She is. Perhaps a tad too frank but we were able to meet because of it.” She smiles again and looks up at him coquettishly from under dark eyelashes, lengthened with mascara.

“Yes it did.” He begins squinting at Marsaili. “Listen Marsaili I-“

“Missy, you can call me Missy.” Those bright blue eyes bore into his and Drake gulps as Missy lays her hand on his forearm. God, she was close now, Drake can smell roses, a hint of acidic fruit, oranges perhaps, and honey. 

“Missy, I don’t really know what happening here but-“ He begins before being cut off again.  
“Drake,” Missy says with a chuckle. “I asked Clara to call your shirt ugly.”

“What, why?” He blurts out understanding how Alice must have felt when she fell down the rabbit hole.

“You’re cute but shy and I needed a reason to talk to you.” Missy shrugs unapologetically and straightens her violet jacket. “I’m all for the concept of wooing but you are a difficult man to pin down long enough to talk to.” 

Drake is all set to disagree when he realises that Missy and Clara had been living next door to him for two weeks and they hadn’t exchanged anything more than a quick hello, despite Missy’s attempts, before he scurried back into the security of his blue house. “I’m sorry?” He tries and it seems to work as Missy smiles prettily. 

“Apology accepted if,” Missy stresses the final word and boops Drake’s nose gently. “You agree to getting coffee with me this week.”

“Sure. I mean, yes.” Drake smiles a little and nods, trying to look more nonchalant about his eagerness. Missy may be a bit odd but he can’t honestly say that’s not a bad thing, normal women usually ran for the hills after spending time with him. “Is Saturday going to be alright with Clara? We can-”

Missy beams happily, and fortunately for Drake, cuts off his rambling before his social awkwardness leads him into making a fool of himself. “Yes, yes she has ballet in the morning. I’ll be free for the rest of the day.” She looks him up and down once again. “Well, depending on how the coffee goes.” Drake blushes hard at that, Missy grins and saunters away to the mailboxes, giggling not unkindly. “I’ll see you Saturday then, Drake.” She says with a wave, taking up Clara’s hand and then the two of them are around the hedges and gone before Drake can so much as splutter out a goodbye.

Blinking owlishly Drake shakes his head before turning back to his house and walks inside, wondering just what the hell he has gotten himself into.


End file.
